


Scouts vs. Zombies

by Slice_of_Apple



Series: Scouts vs Zombies [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adorable Eren Jaeger, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angry Eren Yeager, Angry Jean Kirstein, BAMF Eren, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Glacially Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Eren Yeager, Protective Jean Kirstein, Romance, Sad Jean Kirstein, Slow Burn, Student Jean Kirstein, Sweet, Sweet Jean Kirstein, Who's the enemy here?, Zombies, bamf Jean kind of too in his jean-ish way, it's all about the romance, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: Jean becomes, if possible, even more frightened. There’s something about the way Levi says “what to do with him,” that sounds an awful lot like, “what to do with his body”, meaning, of course, “what to do with his dead body.” He gulps. After all, he doesn’t know what these people are capable of.ORJean Kirstein stumbles upon a clandestine meeting.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager
Series: Scouts vs Zombies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070699
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still new to this, so my apologies if the tags, etc aren't right. Also, the formatting takes me forever, so will upload as chapters.

Jean opens the door into a small conference room. Four people are gathered around a table with maps and other papers scattered across it. It looks for all the world like a cliched scene of generals in a war movie planning their next battle strategy. They all stare at Jean, and not in a friendly way.

“Which one of you idiots didn’t lock the door?” says the short, black-haired man, who is standing closest to Jean. He speaks in a monotone, but something about his voice makes Jean feel very glad he isn’t the one who didn’t lock the door. However, the idiot is immediately revealed to be a guy with brown hair, who flushes a dark red and mutters, “Sorry, Captain Levi.”

“Eren,” scolds the one woman in the group. Her reproachful tone does not diminish the fact that she is strikingly beautiful, with a shining curtain of black hair.

Eren turns to glare at Jean, as though the lack of door-locking is entirely Jean’s fault.

Jean holds up his hands in mock apology, accompanied by an expression that clearly conveys, “ _I’m_ not the idiot here.” Eren’s angry stare becomes frankly murderous. In fact, if looks could kill, Jean feels that right now he would be rolling around on the floor in the final paroxysms of death.

“Sorry to interrupt your top-secret military planning, _Captain_ ,” Jean says with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. No one so much as smiles. Jeez, what’s up with these people? But he’s starting to feel weirdly nervous, and so adds quickly, in a more serious tone, “I take it this isn’t the fencing club?”

“You’re looking for fencing, eh?” says Levi. “In the basement?”

“I did think it was a little odd…” says Jean. He happens to glance down at one of the maps on the table.

"Is that Shiganshina?” he asks with sudden interest. “Yes, yes, it is. I recognize the four quadrants, that unusual downtown layout. Wow! You’ve mapped all the hot spots. From the original zombie outbreak.”

In his excitement (after all, Jean’s dissertation is _all about_ the fall of Shiganshina), Jean fails to notice that the atmosphere in the room is cooling rapidly. In fact, it might even be described as downright frosty.

“These are the numbers of infected from the first wave?” Jean continues, leaning in to read the fine print. “How were they tabulated? Those figures don’t match the original government reports. Wait a minute.” He frowns slightly. “You’ve got something else right here.” He points to an area of the map outlined in red. “In the southwest quadrant. That area was almost wholly unaffected during the initial outbreak. What is this address – 9 Rose Lane?”

“What a nosy little bugger you are,” says Levi with a glint in his eyes, as a blonde-haired guy hastily turns the map Jean is looking at upside down. Jean hadn’t noticed while he was speaking, but Levi is now standing uncomfortably close.

“Excuse me,” Jean says nervously. When he tries to step backwards, he realizes the woman is right behind him.

“What do you think?” asks Levi.

“What do I think? I’m wondering what that area in the southwest quadrant signifies,” Jean says. But it turns out Levi isn’t talking to Jean.

“Armin?” he clarifies. A small, blonde-haired guy answers.

“I think it’s unlikely that he just happened to wander into this room. He also seems to be unusually knowledgeable. We can’t risk it.”

“Agreed,” says Levi. “Mikasa.”

This is clearly a call to action. The woman, whose name apparently is Mikasa, swings her arm around Jean and neatly puts him into a headlock. At the same time, someone else- it must be Eren- ties Jean’s hands up. _Ties them up_! Jean tries to wrench himself free, but, even though he would consider himself to be a fit, strong, person, he is completely helpless in Mikasa’s iron grip.

“What the hell are you doing? Let me go! You can’t just tie random people up!”

“Random assholes,” Eren mutters, and Jean knows he has tied the ropes as tightly as he can without actually cutting off circulation.

“Seriously! Get off me!” yells Jean. Everyone ignores him. Armin is efficiently gathering up the papers and putting them in a backpack, and Eren starts sliding the chairs back in place around the table. Mikasa moves, dragging Jean along head first.

“Whoa- wait. Where are we going? This isn’t funny.” Jean’s voice is rising in panic. The only response he gets is Eren sticking a piece of tape over his mouth. Then it’s just muffled curses as he’s manhandled out the back door of the room and down a long, dark corridor.

They end up in another, much larger room. It looks kind of like an army barracks, but messy, so maybe more like an open dormitory. There are bunk beds against the far wall, and several desks, even lockers. Do these maniacs live here? He doesn’t know of any underground dorms at the University. He vaguely notices that Armin slides into the room after everyone else, and he doesn’t have a backpack anymore.

Inside the room are three other people. A blonde man with a broad, muscular chest, a tall, black-haired man, and a guy with a buzz cut.

“What’s this?” asks Blonde Muscle Man, as Jean is lugged into the room.

“He wandered into our business,” answers Levi. “Armin thinks he’s a spy.”

“Really?” asks Buzz Cut, perking up. “I’ve never met a spy.”

Mikasa forces Jean into a chair and rests her arms firmly on his shoulders. He feels like he’s trapped in a vise.

“OK,” says Levi. “Time for you to answer some questions.” He unceremoniously rips off the tape, which hurts.

"Ow!” says Jean. Then Levi’s words register. “A spy? Are you kidding me? What is this, some kind of Zombie Plague re-enactment club? What would I be spying on? Your historical analysis of the fall of Shiganshina?”

At his words, Blonde Muscle Man and Tall Guy exchange a glance. Jean thinks maybe this _is_ some bizarre historical troupe, like a Zombie Renaissance Faire, staffed by lunatics.

“I’m the one asking the questions here,” Levi says. “What’s your name?”

“Jean.”

“Jean what?”

“Jean Kirstein.”

“What were you doing in the basement, Kirstein?”

“I already told you. I was looking for the fencing club,” says Jean.

“Why are you really here, Kirstein?”

“I’m here because I’ve been forcibly kidnapped,” Jean retorts.

“Uh-uh,” says Levi, wagging his finger.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I was trying to find the fencing club!” Jean speaks slowly and carefully, but his voice climbs until by the end he is almost shouting.

Levi switches tactics slightly. “What business do you have at the University?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” says Levi.

“The business of getting a Ph.D., you asshole,” says Jean.

“His ID card matches,” Armin offers up.

“Is that my wallet? Give it back to me!” Jean tries to reach for it, momentarily forgetting that not only are his hands tied, but Mikasa still has her hands on his shoulders.

Armin is busy typing on a computer.

“Let’s see… Kirstein, Jean; PhD candidate in the Modern History Department; dissertation in progress, topic: Zombie Plague, Fall of Shiganshina. Amateur fencer, various other sports accomplishments… all-around athlete, it seems.”

“Why are you trying to find the fencing club now, right before summer?” Levi asks.

“Because my old club folded. Ran out of funds,” snaps Jean. Not that it’s any of their business.

Armin continues reading off the screen: “From Stohess. Father’s an engineer, mother teaches. Three siblings, two still in school, one works as a soccer coach. No current relationship ties, seems to be an all-work-and-no-play kind of guy.”

“What the hell?” asks Jean, blushing. “Where are you even getting that from?”

Levi grunts. “I’ll have to consult with the higher-ups before we decide what to do with him.”

Jean becomes, if possible, even more frightened. There’s something about the way Levi says “what to do with him,” that sounds an awful lot like, “what to do with his body”, meaning, of course, “what to do with his dead body.” He gulps. After all, he doesn’t know what these people are capable of.

“For now, he stays with you. It’s almost time for your evening session in the training room. He needs a guard at all times. Figure out a rotation. I’ll be back after training to discuss this issue further.”

The training room is down yet another dimly lit hallway. This underground warren seems to be a maze of identical, dark, branching corridors. It’s right out of some mixed genre science fiction/thriller/horror flick.

This time, the heavy metal door opens up into a room the size of an air hangar. It’s organized like a gymnasium, but instead of rings, bars, and balance beams, the various stations are stocked with what seem to be some sort of dummy targets.

Jean is astounded. “I can’t believe this is all in the basement. Nothing like this is on any of the University maps.”

He doesn’t expect a response, since clearly everyone thinks he’s the enemy, but Armin surprises him by answering, “We’re not technically on University property anymore.”

Despite the uncertainty of his situation, Jean finds the training session to be unexpectedly entertaining. The squad members (because this is clearly some kind of squad) are situated at a station fairly near the entrance. The training consists of whacking at dummies with blunt wooden swords. The goal seems to be to behead the dummies in one stroke.

Mikasa is the most skilled. Not only does she have almost superhuman speed, every time she hits a target, the “head” rolls neatly off. She adds in all kinds of flourishes, even spinning around in the air before striking, and it’s always a perfect blow, right at what is evidently the vulnerable juncture between the head and neck.

All the others have about the same level of competence, except maybe Armin, who, more often than not, fumbles. _Perhaps Armin is more of a strategist than a fighter_ thinks Jean, remembering how Armin seemed to be in control of the papers. There is something very satisfying about the way the swords hit the dummies with a loud thwack, and the heads fly through the air. Jean finds himself wishing he could try it out.

He’s been watching for about 15 minutes when something about the target figures clicks. They’re a humanoid shape, but taller than any living person, and they have long, creepily swinging arms, with what look like individual ropes of muscle only loosely tied together. They look like zombies. This is zombie-killing training! Now he definitely wants to have a go.

One of the squad members is always off to the side, standing guard over Jean. They rotate into this position about every 10 minutes.

When it's Eren’s turn to serve as watchdog, Jean nods at the dummies and says to him, “I can do that just as well as you can.”

At first Eren doesn’t answer. But eventually he succumbs to the temptation and responds, “No, you can’t.”

“I definitely can,” says Jean. “You were successful in the last seven out of ten swings, correct?”

Jean can see Eren didn’t think he’d been watching that carefully.

“Tell you what. Let’s make it a bet. If I can make seven out of ten, my hands stay untied. If I don’t, you can tie me back up, and even tape my mouth again.”

“Since when do you get to make demands?” retorts Eren. But Jean can tell that Eren is intrigued. He sees that Eren would like nothing better than to witness Jean’s public failure, with a nice dollop of humiliation thrown in for good measure.

“Deal,” he says.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” says Armin, who can somehow hear them.

“Come on, there’s no way he can escape from us,” says Eren, “even with his hands untied.”

It takes Jean a few swings of the wooden sword to get the feel of it. It’s different from a fencing blade. In fact, it is much more like a baseball bat. But Jean has always been a sporty kind of guy, and he catches on quickly. He can tell when he swings the sword what sort of speed and angle he’ll need, and he honestly thinks he can do this.

His first hit is not too far off the mark but is lacking in force; the head doesn’t budge. The target is clearly designed to withstand anything that is not a substantial direct hit. Eren sniggers. Jean ignores him, focusing on the task at hand. He will need more speed and a wider arc. This works: with the next swing, the head flies off with a bang.

After reattaching the head (it locks neatly into place with a simple downward push), he’s ready for his third swing. He flubs this one.

But his next attempt is successful, and by then he’s gotten the hang of it. He easily beheads the next six in a row. Then he gets a little cocky, tries to vary the angle, and his last swing fails.

He’s so intent on what’s in front of him that he’s almost forgotten about the bet. It’s only when he turns around and sees Eren’s open-mouthed dismay that he remembers.

“Told you so,” he can’t help saying.

“Beginner’s luck,” scoffs Eren.

“It’s more my natural physical superiority, don’t you think?” drawls Jean.

Eren tackles him. Not a lot of finesse, but it gets the job done: Jean is sprawled on the floor, and he isn’t gloating anymore.

“If you were in the field, you’d be a zombie right now,” grumbles Eren, puffing his way back up into a standing position.

“So you _do_ fight zombies,” Jean says, shaking himself loose as he rises.

“Of course we-“ Eren starts to say, then claps his hand over his mouth, mumbling, “Dammit.”

“You’re not very good at keeping your mouth shut, are you?” Jean is beginning to think that Eren’s natural color is a prominent angry rosiness.

He already knows it’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull, but he somehow can’t stop himself from adding casually, as though he’s talking about the weather, “I’m actually surprised they even let you into this secret club.” He numbers on his fingers, “One: doesn’t lock doors; two: mediocre swordsman; three: blabs secrets…”

This time he’s stopped by a punch to the stomach. Eren may be shorter than Jean, but he is obviously very strong, and the punch packs a wallop. Jean doubles over, gasping for breath, while Eren stands above him victoriously. The prick.

Jean lets out a calculatedly pathetic whimper. He then sobs slightly and holds his hands over his face, like he’s crying. He wonders if he’s laying it on a bit thick, but he shouldn’t have worried. Eren falls for it, hook, line, and sinker, snorting in disgust and turning away. Jean dives for the backs of Eren’s knees. Eren, caught off balance, falls face-first with a crash.

Jean leaps up and sits down hard on top of Eren, yanking Eren’s arms behind his back. He gives a sharp tug, and Eren yelps. Although this is a pleasant and rewarding activity, Jean quickly realizes that no one else is between him and the door. He jumps to his feet, standing on both of Eren’s shoulder blades for good measure (which yields a satisfying “oof” from Eren) and sprints towards freedom.

He’s getting closer, even thinks he might make it, might actually escape from this crazy alternate universe, when something black flashes past him. Before he realizes what’s happening, Mikasa has swept his feet out from under him. He somehow ends up flat on his back, peering up into Mikasa’s death stare and trying to catch his breath. He realizes that while he still finds her beautiful, it is more in the style of an icy angel of destruction, rather than a warm, approachable human beauty.

“Don’t try that again,” says Mikasa. “Or else.” Jean doesn’t want to know what the “Or else” means. She turns and walks back to Eren. Jean hears her ask with surprising gentleness, “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” says Eren. Jean is pleased to hear that he sounds angry. “I had the situation under control. You didn’t need to intervene.”

Jean snorts and mutters, “As if.”

“That’s enough,” Mikasa calls to him. Jean zips his mouth shut.

At that moment, Levi re-enters the training room. Armin, Eren, and Mikasa converge on the entrance. Jean strains his ears. Luckily, the sounds of thwacking swords diminishes enough that Jean can hear snatches of whispered conversation.

“… good with the sword…”

“… recruit…

“He’s such a tool!” Eren’s is the only voice that comes through loud and clear.

“It’s my decision,” says Levi as he turns towards Jean, effectively ending the discussion.

“Oi! You. Kirsmith.”

“Kirstein,” says Jean automatically, struggling to a sitting position. He certainly doesn’t want to be lying down when talking to Levi.

“Kirstein. Let me be as clear as I can. We can’t allow you to betray our secrets.”

“I won’t!” Jean pipes up immediately. “Of course, I won’t. I can see that what you’re doing is very, very important. What could be more important than killing zombies?”

Levi glares at Eren, who promptly becomes very interested in something on the ground; at this point, even Eren’s ears are flaming red.

“And very, very secret,” Jean continues quickly. Now is not the time to further antagonize any of these people. “I would never blab about it. I swear! I’ll swear on anything you like: my life, my dissertation, my unborn children… or… or.. anything!”

Levi holds up his hand and Jean stops babbling. “You have a choice. You can join us, because-”

Eren makes a strangled noise.

“ _Because_ ,” Levi repeats, raising his voice slightly, “it sounds like you know your way around a sword, and, frankly, we could use your help. Or, we can send you back to Ph.D.-land with a personal bodyguard who will be at your side 24-7 for the next six months, monitoring every single detail of your personal life. You choose.”

While the latter option doesn’t sound particularly enticing, it’s a lot better than what Jean was expecting. “You mean, you’re not go-going to k-k-kill me?” He is embarrassed that his voice shakes so much.

Levi looks dumbfounded. “You honestly thought we would _kill_ you?” It seems as though he’s talking to himself when he adds, “It drives me crazy that we’re the bad guys here.”

Jean refrains from pointing out that he has only very recently been tied up and kidnapped.

“You have until tomorrow evening to make your decision. You’ll sleep tonight with the rest of the squad, and Eren will be your guard.”

“What? Why me?” demands Eren.

“Need I remind you why we’re in this situation in the first place?” asks Levi coldly. Eren shuts up. Levi turns back to Jean and points at his face. “You take this time to think carefully. Choose wisely.”

“But, I don’t have any clothes, or-or a toothbrush, or anything,” Jean protests. Levi, however, has already exited the room.

Jean is allowed alone time in the bathroom, for which he is grateful, but that’s about it. Eren, no doubt vividly recalling Jean’s escape attempt, is sticking to him like glue.

“Can you stop breathing on me?” Jean finally says.

In response, Eren wraps an arm around Jean’s neck and exhales forcefully into his face.

“Ugh! Get away from me,” squawks Jean, pushing Eren off him. He shoves hard enough that Eren’s head bangs against the iron bar connecting the top to the bottom bunk. There is a short scuffle, which ends with Jean smashed into the wall (Eren does have the home court advantage, after all).

“Get off me, you imbecile,” Jean snarls.

“What’s the magic word?” asks Eren in a singsong voice. His knee is digging uncomfortably into Jean’s back, and all of a sudden Jean has had enough. It’s been a long and disagreeable evening, and he was hoping to relax a bit and give his brain some time to catch up with recent events. He gives a howl of rage, and kicks Eren off. Scrambling around, he lunges at Eren, hellbent on ripping him in two.

There are two sharp cracks and Jean falls into a limp heap, pain exploding in his chest. Levi is standing over both of them, glowering. It cheers Jean up a little to see that Eren looks equally miserable, his lip bleeding.

“Enough,” says Levi. “Rule number one: No fighting outside of the training room. Lights out at 10:30. These are for you.” He dumps a pair of clean pajamas and a new toothbrush at Jean’s feet.

Jean feels a little lost without the familiar surroundings of his apartment. But what he misses most at the moment is the book he’s currently reading. Jean can’t remember the last time he fell asleep without reading first. He looks around but doesn’t see any potential substitutes lying around.

Even though Eren is practically on top of him, no way is Jean going to ask him for help. He decides on Armin, because he feels that Armin in a way knows him, at least a little bit. He shuffles over to Armin’s desk. Eren watches but does not follow.

He clears his throat. Armin looks up.

“Do you happen to have anything I could read?”

“Hmmm,” thinks Armin. “Maybe over here?” He pulls some jackets off what turns out to be a small bookcase. Jean’s spirits lift, but then he sees that it is full of books about war strategy and zombies. Jean was hoping to find something a little more escapist.

“Any novels?” he asks.

Armin shrugs, “Just whatever’s there.”

Jean bends down to hunt more thoroughly through the bookshelf. No luck. Apparently, the squad doesn’t go in for fiction. But he does find something almost as good: a pack of cards. The pack looks ancient, the cards worn and creased; a few are missing. He borrows some supplies from Armin and is able to create rough approximations of the ones that are lost.

He sits on his bed, back turned pointedly to Eren, and deals out a hand of solitaire. Halfway through the first game, he starts to feel better. Something about the familiarity of the game soothes him. By the time he finishes two games, it’s closing on 10:15, and he realizes he’s exhausted. He stuffs the cards back in their tattered box, reaches out to turn off his bunk lamp, and finds Eren standing next to his bed. He’s holding out several sizes of handcuffs, as though offering Jean a choice of treats.

“You’re actually going to handcuff me to this bed?” Jean’s not sure why anything surprises him at this point.

“I’m not taking any chances with a slippery weasel like you,” Eren replies. “Wrist or ankle?"

Jean scowls, but he can see Eren isn’t going to change his mind. “Whatever. Ankle, I guess.”

He thinks it will be difficult to fall asleep in this strange room, full of strange people, cuffed to a bed, but he must be more tired than he realizes, because within minutes he’s out like a light.

He wakes up, confused, to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm, his head buried in an unfamiliar pillow, and a heaviness pressing in on his mind. Usually, this heavy feeling signifies that something unpleasant is happening that day, like an oral exam he’s not prepared over. When he rolls over and sees Eren jumping down from his bunk, the memory of yesterday’s events crashes over him in a wave. As the others make their beds, dress, and head out the door, he groans and pulls the covers over his head. Under the heavy, industrial blankets, he can almost pretend it’s all a dream. He wishes it was all a dream.

He’s just starting to feel hungry- dinner seems like it was a lifetime ago- when Eren returns alone. He leans in to unlock Jean’s ankle cuff and drops a small paper bag and a set of clean clothes on Jean’s pillow.

“We have twenty minutes before training, so you might want to hurry,” Eren says gruffly. He walks over to his locker.

Jean opens the bag and is greeted with the delightful sight of a pair of blueberry scones.

Blueberry scones are his _absolute favorite_.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

It turns out that the drill he did the night before is the most basic beheading maneuver. Today, they practice all sorts of other exercises. Jean ends up spending a fair amount of time on the sidelines. No one really talks to him, but Jean is content to watch the complicated array of sword thrusts, jabs, and swings.

There is one station which incorporates a more advanced type of dummy, one with movable limbs. He tenses up the first time he sees the hands seize Armin. The motion so realistically imitates the videos of zombies jerkily grabbing their victims that he feels slightly nauseated. He gives this particular station a try, but he is not able to chop off any heads. He’s too focused on evading the snatching arms. He has to admit that the others are leagues ahead of him in this regard. They are all able to nimbly skirt the grasping limbs and focus on the task of beheading.

“Not in a betting mood today, Kirstein?” jeers Eren from the next target over.

This distracts Jean just enough that he gets grabbed yet again. The dummies emit a small but still painful electric shock when they make contact, and this does not improve Jean’s mood.

By evening, Jean is completely wiped out. He’s sitting on his bed, back against the wall, eyes closed, when a flat voice asks, “Have you come to a decision?”

Jean’s eyes fly open, and Levi is standing before him. Everyone else is scattered around the room, doing their own thing, but Jean knows he is in a virtual spotlight.

“I have,” says Jean. “I’ll join you.” He can tell by the glint in Levi’s eyes that he is surprised. Jean is also surprised. He wasn’t sure when he opened his mouth what was going to come out of it. He’s glad he sounds calm, because part of him feels like he’s just stepped off a cliff. He wonders if he is saying yes only so he will have the chance to beat Eren and wipe that smirk off his obnoxious face. If so, it’s a stupid reason.

Levi only nods briefly. “Armin will arrange for you to take a hiatus from your Ph.D. for the next few months, on account of your unexpected health issue. He will also send the requisite messages to your friends and family and secure any outstanding accounts. Don’t worry, all will be returned to normal in the future.”

Jean is wondering how Levi can make such an absurd promise with a straight face when he adds, “And Kirstein... Welcome to the Scout Regiment.”

After Levi departs, the atmosphere in the squad room becomes slightly celebratory. It’s not every day that they get a new member in a manner that doesn’t involve the death or dismemberment of a prior member.

Everyone comes over for introductions and handshakes. Mikasa is Mikasa Ackermann. Armin is Armin Arlert. Blonde Muscle Man is Reiner Braun. Tall Guy is Bertolt Hoover. Turns out Reiner and Bertolt only joined the squad a few months ago themselves, after their predecessors suffered severe injuries.

Even Eren holds out his hand: “Eren Jaeger,” he says. He then proceeds to squeeze Jean’s hand for all he’s worth. How predictable. It’s so predictable that Jean is completely expecting this kind of behavior and responds in kind. Armin rolls his eyes, but they keep at it until Reiner claps them both on the back, roaring, “Okay, okay, time out. You’re on the same side now!”

At this, they simultaneously let go, grinning at each other with their teeth bared.

“Nice job in training today,” says Buzz Cut, whose name is Connie Springer.

“You think so?” asks Jean, puzzled by the compliment. He thought he had done pretty poorly.

“Yeah,” says Connie. “I didn’t even try the Grabbers until I’d been here for a few weeks.” Jean feels better after this. Maybe with a little more practice he can beat Eren.

While it’s nice to know everyone’s name, Jean understands that, although he has been provisionally accepted, he is most definitely on probation. For one thing, he’s not allowed contact with any other squads. This kind of makes sense; it minimizes the damage if Jean does turn out to be a spy. Because of this enforced isolation, Jean also is not allowed to go to the common dining hall. The squad members will rotate bringing him food every day. Nor will he attend a formal orientation. Instead, Armin and Mikasa give him a quick rundown of basic facts. This includes a strict admonition to not reveal anything from the original conference room meeting. Under pain of death. He thinks that Armin is joking about this last bit (didn’t Levi say, or at least strongly imply, that they most definitely would _not_ kill Jean?). Then he sees Mikasa’s stony expression, and isn’t so sure. However, on a positive note, he will no longer be cuffed to the bed at night.

His new life consists primarily of training, training, and more training. Because of his provisional status, he doesn’t get much formal instruction during training sessions, but, when Levi pops in, he does some teaching, and the other squad members offer up helpful tips and strategies when they notice Jean doing something wrong. It’s not the perfect way to learn, but this sort of thing has always come easily to Jean, and he begins to notice a steady improvement in his skills.


	2. Chapter 2

After Jean has been there for about a month, and he has gotten somewhat used to the spartan boot-camp-style living, the squad has an unexpected day off. After breakfast, everyone pretty much disappears, mostly to escape aboveground, Jean thinks. Jean has to stay in the squad room. He actually doesn’t mind that much; he’s more or less constantly exhausted, given the early wake-up time and the endless hours of training. He climbs back into bed and quickly falls asleep.

He wakes up in the middle of the afternoon, alert and ravenous. No one else is in the room, and Jean doesn’t see any inviting paper bags full of goodies waiting next to his bed, either. Apparently, everyone has forgotten about him. Jean is so hungry he doesn’t think he can last until dinner. Plus, who knows if anyone will even be back by then?

He opens the door and peeks his head out. In a stroke of unbelievable good fortune, he catches a glimpse of Armin’s blonde head hurrying along the corridor towards the training room.

He calls out, but Armin doesn’t hear him.

Jean dashes out the door. He thinks that if he doesn’t find some food in the next twenty minutes, he will pass out. Unfortunately, Armin is moving at a brisk clip down the hall. He makes a right turn past the training room. Jean rounds the corner just in time to see Armin taking another right. A series of quick turns follow, and soon Jean has no idea where he is. He definitely needs to catch up to Armin, or he might be lost forever in this twisting maze, dying of starvation along the way.

At last he catches a break. Armin has to stop and undo several locks on a large, iron-gray door. Jean reaches him before he disappears behind it.

“Hey,” he calls out, as Armin withdraws the key from the last lock.

At the sound of his voice, Armin jumps. “Shit! What are you doing here?”

“Happy to see you, too,” says Jean, a little hurt by Armin’s reaction. He has grown to respect and perhaps even like Armin, and he had thought Armin was starting to warm up to him as well.

“Is anyone else with you?” asks Armin, peering around Jean.

“No. I’m just trying to find something to eat,” says Jean, looking hopefully at Armin. “I haven’t had any lunch. Can you point me in the direction of some food?”

“Sorry, I’m a bit busy right now. Please go back to the squad room. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“I’m actually pretty lost, to be honest. And absolutely famished.” Jean sniffs. An appetizing smell is wafting up from Armin’s general vicinity. “Is that… chicken?”

“No… Well, yes, but-“

“I’m so hungry. Can I have a little bit?”

“Jean, please-“

Armin breaks off at the sound of a low beeping noise, which is coming from inside the door he just unlocked.

“Dammit,” says Armin. He pulls Jean into the room with him and locks the door behind them.

“Fine. I’ll give you some food. Come with me.”

They move through two additional bolted doors, Armin carefully locking each one up again after they pass through.

They end up in what looks like a small antechamber, bookended by two heavily bolted doors. Armin opens a large bag and pulls out a bucket filled with chicken tenders. He places a generous pile on a plate and hands it to Jean. 

Jean wolfs down the food, which is delicious. “Thank you!” he says gratefully.

“I hope they were worth it,” mutters Armin.

“What do you mean, “ _worth_ _it_ ”? Worth _what_?” He doesn’t like the sound of that, but it’s hard for Jean to feel too worried when his stomach is so happy.

“Worth what’s going to happen to you. You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“I was starving!” says Jean. “Does anyone really care if I walk down a few extra corridors? They all look exactly the same.” But then Jean thinks about Armin’s words a little more.

“You still don’t trust me,” he says quietly. “Why not?”

“Everybody starts off on probation,” says Armin.

“It’s more than that,” says Jean. “I’m not allowed to go to meals, I have to stay in the squad room, and I can’t even walk down the hall alone. There’s something else going on.”

Armin doesn’t respond, but his shoulders look tense.

As Jean is talking, a piece of the puzzle falls into place. “That’s why it was only the four of you, that first time! And why I’ve never seen your backpack in the squad room. You don’t want anyone else to know about 9 Rose Lane. Not even the other members of your own squad. You really _are_ worried about spies. And there’s something important about that address.” Jean is sure he’s right; he just wonders why he hadn’t figured it out before. He’ll have to chalk it up to being brain dead from all the training.

“Why was I asked to join?” he wonders aloud. He’s not expecting an answer, but talking aloud has always helped him think, and something about this enclosed space has jumpstarted the wheels in his brain. Ah, he’s got it. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, eh?” he mutters, and a note of bitterness creeps into his voice. He had been starting to feel almost at home, like he belonged here in this crazy underground operation. But he’s only here so they can keep an eye on him. A very close eye. Which is a ridiculous use of their resources, seeing as Jean isn’t actually a spy.

Armin is saved from listening to more of this one-sided conversation by a short rat-a-tat-tat on the inner door, followed by a low voice saying, “Open up.”

Armin quickly draws back both the bolts. 

Mikasa tumbles in, carrying something over her shoulder, which she immediately lays carefully on the floor. Straight away, Armin bolts the door behind her. A sickening smell, like burning chemicals, accompanies her. It takes Jean a moment to recognize that what is on the ground is Eren. But a much different Eren than he’s used to seeing. This Eren is a lot bigger, and his skin, bursting out of the splitting seams of his clothes, is burnt-looking, like charcoal. His fingers end in claws, and fangs hang down over his lower lip. But perhaps the biggest change is that his skin drapes loosely over the clear outline of strings of muscle. Eren looks like a zombie.

“What the hell?” says Jean, backing away from the unnatural-looking figure. Both Armin and Mikasa ignore him. Armin is typing on his keyboard, and Mikasa is carefully checking over Zombie-Eren. There is a hissing noise, and Zombie-Eren starts… transforming. He’s shrinking, the burnt color is fading, the claws and fangs retract, and the muscles are plumping out underneath his skin.

“What’s going on?” whispers Jean. “Why is he changing like that?”

Armin and Mikasa continue to ignore him.

“How many?” asks Armin.

“Twelve,” answers Mikasa.

“Adults or children?” 

“All adults.”

“Dead?”

Mikasa nods. “I got five, and Eren took care of the rest.”

“Where they all clean kills?” asks Armin. He’s typing something in for every one of Mikasa’s answers.

“Yes,” says Mikasa simply. She has never been one to waste words.

“Were you tracked?”

“No,” answers Mikasa.

“Is the tunnel secure?” asks Armin.

“Yes,” says Mikasa.

Armin leaves the computer and props up Eren’s head with several pillows. He opens up the bag where the chicken came from, and pulls out an incongruously festive tablecloth, which he lays on the floor next to Eren. He starts placing food on top of the cloth, item after item, as though he is serving up a banquet.

“Is now really the right time for a picnic?” Jean asks incredulously. He is still trying to interpret their recent conversation. If he understood correctly, Mikasa has just wiped out five zombies, and Eren has killed seven. Seven zombies! How is that even possible? Eren isn’t even that great with a sword. And why was he looking like a zombie himself? Was he bitten? If so, how one earth did he go back to looking human again?

“He uses up a lot of energy transforming,” says Armin, as though this explains anything.

His eyes still closed, Eren throws out a hand. He grabs a chicken tender and inhales it in about three seconds. Jean has never seen anyone eat with such ferocity. Was any chewing involved? He watches in growing amazement as Eren rapidly plows through the remaining chicken tenders, a pile of beef sticks, and several cupcakes. He starts in on an immense brownie. He leaves the hard-boiled eggs, the carrots, and the packet of kale chips alone.

“How does he know what’s in the packet?” asks Jean, momentarily sidetracked from the whole Zombie-Eren situation by this fascinating display of selective gluttony.

Armin sighs. “I think it’s some kind of telepathic connection with food. I always try to sneak in some vegetables, but it never works. He seems to only want meat and sugar.” He opens up a family-size box of ginger snaps, and empties it onto the table cloth.

Mikasa strips off her outer clothes, which seem to be made out of a strange metallic-looking cloth, leaving only shorts and a tank top on. While Eren continues to eat, Armin inspects Mikasa for possible bites. There is one area of redness on the back of her thigh, but the skin is not broken.

Once they are finished, Mikasa cleans her equipment. Her sword is very much like the wooden blades they practice with, aside from one major difference: the wicked-looking steel blades extruding from the tip.

Eren’s pace has slowed down, but he is still blindly downing ginger snaps at a steady rate.

Jean can’t help but creep up to Armin and whisper, point-blank: “Is Eren a zombie?”

Armin sighs again. Jean doesn’t think he’s going to answer the question, but he’s wrong.

“Eren has… immunity to the plague. He cannot turn into a zombie, no matter how many times he’s bitten.”

“ _What_?!!!” exclaims Jean. “Immunity hasn’t been described anywhere! Why aren’t you broadcasting this to the world? The possibility of immunity changes everything!”

“It’s not that simple,” answers Armin quietly. “First of all, in zombie form Eren also has certain zombie… powers. It would not be prudent to indiscriminately pass those on to the general population. Also, when he is in this zombie state, he attracts other zombies. It would definitely be unwise to inflict this particular quality onto civilians. Perhaps most important, however, is that we don’t know how or why Eren is like this. That’s a big part of what we’re trying to figure out. Until we do, it’s not safe for Eren, or for Mikasa, Captain Levi, and me, if anyone else finds out about him.” He looks straight at Jean, and Jean feels like Armin is going to burn a hole in his face with the intensity of his gaze. Mikasa materializes next to Armin in order to give Jean the Evil Eye and chime in, “ _Anyone else_.” 

“I won’t tell,” Jean assures them. He means it. He would mean it even without Mikasa threatening to pound him to a pulp. He appreciates the gravity of the situation. “Scout’s honor,” he adds, because that’s what he and Marco always used to say when they made a solemn vow. Because Marco was a Boy Scout. Before.

Jean reaches in absently and swipes one of the rejected hard-boiled eggs. He’s hungry again.

When Eren finally opens his eyes, he looks like his usual self. He sees Jean and scowls. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“It couldn’t be helped,” says Armin.

“You better not fucking tell anyone,” Eren says to Jean. He struggles to sit up, but he’s too weak, and has to be content with shaking his fists at Jean. One of the fists is filled with cookies, and the sight is so absurd that Jean has an almost overwhelming urge to laugh. Then he remembers that Eren just killed seven zombies, all while he himself was something of a zombie, and the urge leaves him.

“I won’t tell,” he promises again.

“You better fucking not,” says Eren, through a mouthful of cookies.

After another half hour of rest and food, Eren is able to change into clean, intact clothing and stand up. He is still a bit wobbly and has to lean on Mikasa. Jean hovers in the background, trying to be useful, but likely only interfering with the well-oiled machine that is Armin/Eren/Mikasa.

At dinner-time, Eren is still too tired to get out of bed. Mikasa and Armin are nowhere to be seen, and Reiner offers to bring them both food.

“Thanks, man,” says Jean gratefully.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” asks Reiner softly. “I hate to see him like that.”

Jean shrugs. He is just turning away when Reiner adds, as though in afterthought, “Why is he so wrecked, anyway? Where the hell does he go to party on his downtime?”

Jean shrugs his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he replies. 

Jean is not sure how he feels about this new Zombie-Eren. Not that Zombie-Eren is new, he’s just new to Jean. Jean can’t quite reconcile his personal experience of Eren-as-the-Ultimate-Asshole with the fact that Eren is apparently also a remarkable-zombie-killing-machine-with-immunity-to-zombies-and-therefore-possibly-the-one-person-holding-the-key-to-ending-the-zombie-plague. He also, weirdly, feels a bit sorry for Eren. Evidently, being a remarkable-zombie-killing-machine takes a lot out of him.

He hangs about next to Eren’s bunk. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks the unmoving heap that is Eren.

Eren grunts.

“Do you want some water?”

Another grunt.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can stop asking questions,” says Eren in a raspy voice. He rolls over, and Jean finds himself looking directly into Eren’s eyes.

The view is disconcerting, and Jean squeaks out the only other thing that he can think of that might be helpful. “Do you want to play cards?”

“What did I just say about questions?”

“Okay. But, well, do you?” asks Jean.

Silence. 

In a small voice, “I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how what?”

“How to play cards.”

“You don’t know how to play _any card games?_ ” asks Jean. Perhaps he shouldn’t have sounded quite so astonished, but really, doesn’t everyone know how to play at least one card game? _Old Maid_ , perhaps? _Go Fish?_

Eren flushes. “Why the fuck would I want to play fucking cards with a pompous fuck like you,” he growls, and rolls over to the other side, his back to Jean.

Jean steps back, stung. “Jesus Christ,” he snaps. “I just thought it might take your mind off… things.” He angrily stomps back to his bed. That’s the last time he’ll try to do anything nice for that blockhead, so what if he is a remarkable-zombie-killing-machine.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite Armin’s ominous words regarding the price of chicken tenders, the only repercussion Jean experiences from walking in on the Zombie-Eren Caper is that Eren starts completely ignoring him. Jean is surprised to find that this doesn’t feel entirely like the reward he would have expected it to be.

In fact, it’s a bit of a welcome distraction when, a week later, Levi informs the squad of an upcoming mission. As it so happens, Jean will participate. It will be a short reconnaissance mission in a very low-density area on the outskirts of Trost District. It is felt to be as low-risk as a zombie mission can be. Levi thinks Jean’s skills have improved to a level where he can participate safely. Even so, Jean is not to attempt any attacks. His assignment on this mission is to “acclimate” to real, live zombies.

“I’m not allowed to kill any of them?” Jean asks. He feels a certain disappointment. What’s all this bloody training been for, if he’s not going to be killing zombies? 

“Your job is to come back alive,” says Levi. “And not get in anyone else’s way.”

For the week before the mission, they do some practice every day with the metal-tipped blades, although not in conjunction with the target dummies- these are apparently too expensive to replace. The weight and feel of the new swords are very similar to their purely wooden counterparts. Jean is told that, while the wooden blades can indeed sever zombie heads with a wide swing, the metal-tipped ones are effective using a variety of approaches, and therefore are the ones used most often in the field. One caveat is that scouts using them must stay hyper-aware of their surroundings, so they don’t accidentally stab any squad members.

They also practice wearing the active mission uniform, the same one Mikasa was wearing when she hauled Zombie-Eren home. These are made of a thin, flexible, metal, fabric, which, while not proof against direct zombie attacks, do offer some protection against glancing bites and blows. The uniforms are supposed to be breathable, but Jean finds himself uncomfortably hot in his, and he’s always happy to shuck it off at the end of training. 

They also spend a lot more time on group maneuvers. Jean comes to understand that what seems like an almost wordless empathy between the various squad members has in reality been born out of very rigorous and structured practice with specifically choreographed steps.

One evening that week, when Armin is on Jean Dinner Duty, he sits Jean down for a Reminder Chat. “Listen, Jean. Eren’s not going to use his zombie powers on this mission. We are going out strictly to obtain information, and unless there’s unexpected danger, he won’t transform. So, no mention of his unusual… abilities to anyone else, okay?”

“Of course,” answers Jean. Why does everyone think he’s a moron? Plus, if he ever happened to forget, he is sure Mikasa would have his head off before the words were fully out of his mouth.

There are also several “refresher” lectures before the mission. Jean knows that these are entirely for his benefit, as everyone else in the squad has already integrated this information into their DNA. They are reminded that a zombie’s main advantage is its strength. A zombie that is able to catch and grip its victim firmly will always bite that victim. If an adequate dose of venom enters a person’s blood stream, conversation inevitably occurs. The timing it takes to convert into a zombie is highly variable and completely unpredictable. For some, it is a matter of minutes. For others, it can take hours, or even days.

Defensive strategies are extensively reviewed. Zombies detect human prey by their victims’ movements. In fact, the best defense against zombies is to remain motionless. Levi stresses this point. While it sounds simple, he reminds everyone how fear can cloud judgement. Many scouts have lost their lives when they lost their nerve, and instead of waiting it safely out, made a hazardous and futile dash for freedom. Zombies are most sluggish in the early morning, therefore the mission is planned for daybreak.

Offensive strategies are briefly touched upon. Isolating and then killing zombies is the safest method of elimination. They are all reminded that, if an attack is warranted, they must strike in the exact line where the head joins the neck. The loss of muscle and connective tissue in this area renders the zombie head unstable. The head must be severed completely from the body in order for the zombie to be neutralized. Anything less will not be effective. This is why bullets don’t work well against zombies. Similarly, the use of explosives ends up scattering zombie parts which have sufficient tissue for regeneration, leading to a paradoxical increase in the zombie population. Importantly, severed zombie heads remain dangerous; contact of even isolated zombie fangs with broken human skin or mucous membranes can still lead to a fatal inoculum.

Procedures are reviewed at length. Squad formation is of paramount importance. If anyone is separated from the group, they are to remain motionless at that very spot for up to twelve hours, during which time their squad will hopefully find and retrieve them. If no aid comes within that time frame, they are essentially on their own. They will each carry enough water to last for approximately twenty-four hours. The water is stored in a series of discrete pockets throughout the uniform, each connected to a spout that twists up from the collar.

They will return back to base en masse. The duration that the series of doors that protect humans from zombie territories remains open must be kept to a minimum. All squad members have access to the codes for the first door. The second door can only be opened by Captain Levi or Armin, or from the inside. Squad members who make it past the first door can signal their presence by pressing an alarm button.

When the day of the mission finally arrives, Jean can’t believe it’s actually happening. The drive to the tunnel feels surreal. This dream-like feeling continues when they walk through the last locked door and out into Trost.

At first, Jean is incredibly relieved to just be outdoors. He’s been so busy he hadn’t realized how much he’s been craving sunlight. This relief is short-lived, however. Jean had been afraid that the sight of zombies would overwhelm him, but he did not anticipate the impact of the smell – of burning chemicals mixed with rotting flesh. It is overpowering, even in this supposed low-density area, and Jean feels nauseous even before he sees a single zombie. 

Soon enough, they come upon three zombies shuffling around in a field. They’re not that close, and the zombies clearly haven’t detected the squad, yet Jean is instantly paralyzed with fright. He’s seen pictures and videos of zombies, with their blank stares and jerky gaits. But the reality is much, much worse than could possibly be conveyed through the impenetrable distance of a screen. He is utterly unable to move. 

Until something touches him, and he recoils violently. He swings around, wide-eyed with terror. But it’s only Eren. Eren is not looking at Jean- his eyes are trained on the zombies. But he grips Jean’s shoulder with a firm hand, giving Jean a reassuring squeeze. To Jean, it feels like a lifeline to sanity. As he moves forward, Eren says quietly, “All they are is targets, Kirstein. Just zombie targets.” Jean finds he can breathe again. Breathe, and move. He understands now why he is doing this trial run. And he is very grateful that he is not expected to do anything but skulk in the background and not get killed.

They end up skirting the trio, avoiding a direct confrontation. They don’t see any other zombies. They stay in the field for about an hour before they’ve apparently collected the information they need, then head back into the tunnels. The whole ordeal, including travet, post-mission inspection and cleanup, takes about four hours.

Once they are safely back in their barracks, Jean falls into an exhausted sleep.

He wakes up to the sound of the door opening.

“Yo, sleepyhead, let’s eat dinner upstairs today,” calls Eren, beckoning from the doorway. He’s holding two paper bags. Apparently, Jean will have the pleasure of Eren’s company this evening.

“I’m not allowed upstairs.”

“The Captain said it’s okay.”

Eren takes him down a few unknown corridors in the basement, then through a door that looks like it hasn’t been used in centuries. This leads into a cramped stairwell. After walking up ten flights of stairs, they exit out of a small door which opens up onto a rooftop. The roof is flat, with fenced-off sections that look like old, abandoned garden plots. The layout is such that the contents of each section are invisible to the next. Eren winds his way among them until he comes to a spot at the edge of the rooftop. There is a break in the fence here, so they can move out onto the extended ledge. They are treated to a breathtaking view of the southern part of the University campus. It looks strangely foreign to Jean now, as though it’s another country. His whole world has collapsed into the underground universe he currently inhabits.

“I had no idea this was up here,” says Jean.

“Yeah, I found it by accident. It was a project that one of the former University presidents tried to put together. I think something to do with self-sufficient eco-farming, but it fell apart years ago. I come here whenever I get the chance.” Eren is unusually talkative this evening.

The settle down on the asphalt roof, which is pleasantly warm from the sun. Their backs are against the fence, and dinner is spread out between them.

After he’s taken in a few sustaining mouthfuls, Jean realizes he hasn’t had a chance to say it yet, so he says it now.

“Thanks for… um… encouraging me earlier today. I was scared stiff. I don’t think I would have been able to move without your help.” He wonders why he’s admitting this to Eren of all people, but after this morning he feels compelled to speak honestly. He braces himself for ridicule, but Eren’s response surprises him.

“That’s the typical reaction,” says Eren, as though the way Jean cowered in his boots is nothing to be ashamed of. “The zombies are terrifying. I suspect you’re probably more sorry you ever came down into the basement in the first place, huh?”

‘Hmmm,” says Jean. Then, a moment later, this peculiar need for honesty prompts him to shake his head. “Not really.”

“What?” asks Eren, his turn to be surprised.

“I’ve always wanted to fight zombies, in one fashion or another.”

“Do you still want to? After this morning?” asks Eren.

Jean thinks for a minute before answering, “Yeah. I do.” As he speaks, he realizes that it’s the truth. He does want to fight zombies. So much so that he’s willing to go back out and physically face them again. 

Eren asks quietly, “Who was it?”

Jean’s head shoots up, his eyebrows raised.

Eren sighs. “Everyone here has someone they’ve lost.”

“Oh. Right. It was my cousin Marco. He was really my best friend until he… died. He had this tree house.” Jean stops for a moment, then clears his throat and continues. “No one even knew where he got bitten. We were having a family dinner, and he kind of slumped down. His eyes rolled back, and that nauseating smell came off him, the one like chemicals burning. My aunt knew immediately. She completely flipped out. She grabbed him and started yelling and screaming. They eventually had to sedate her so they could take him away. I never saw him again. Although I guess that was better than having to watch him be killed.”

Eren just sits, listening.

This is the first time Jean has ever spoken to anyone outside of his immediate family about Marco. But there is something about sitting up here on the rooftop next to Eren’s reassuring presence that makes Jean want to continue.

“I still have nightmares about it. There’s a zombie, and I know it’s Marco, even though most of his face is gone. He… it… climbs up into the tree house... I know it sounds stupid.” Jean lapses into silence. He’s never spoken about the dream to anyone else. 

“It sounds awful,” says Eren.

Jean narrows his eyes. Is Eren making fun of him? The dream is nothing compared to facing real zombies. But there is no trace of anything but compassion on Eren’s face.

“Yeah,” said Jean. “It pretty much is. Every single time.” He adds, “And you? Who have you lost?”

“Oh, ah… my mum. A long time ago. She was actually the first one to die.”

“Your _mother_ was the _index_ case?” 

“That’s what they say. I was only a kid, and I didn’t fully understand what was happening at the time. Just that she was… gone. It was all hushed up. I mean, nobody even knew about zombies then. This was way before the first official outbreak. My dad never really got over it. He was… different afterwards. Later on, he disappeared as well.”

Jean can’t imagine what that must have been like. After Marco, at least he had still had his parents, his siblings, his home.

“Luckily, by then they had a program here for housing zombie orphans. I got a spot. Armin and Mikasa came soon after I did. We joined the Scout Regiment together when we were 15.”

“When did you find out you were immune?” asks Jean. At first, Eren doesn’t respond. Jean is resigning himself to the fact that Eren isn’t going to answer him, when Eren starts to talk.

“I was bitten a few times before I even knew it. They were small bites, I didn’t pay much attention to them. But then there was one big bite. This was still fairly early on, maybe a year or so after I joined the Scouts. We didn’t have the knowledge we do now. I was quarantined for quite a while, but I never converted, so I was eventually allowed out. That’s when Hanje - she’s our scientist - started studying me.”

Eren was bitten? _Repeatedly_? That means he must have faced zombies more than once, even before he knew he was immune. When he was just a kid. Jean feels a little awed.

“And then, a couple of years later… Captain Levi was there, and Mikasa, and Armin. We were backed against a wall, and the zombies had already gotten the rest of our squad. I can’t remember exactly how it happened, but I bit my hand so hard that it bled. And then I transformed. That’s how I transform now. I bite on my hand. In zombie form I’m … extremely strong and very fast. We don’t really understand that part, because zombies usually move relatively slowly. Anyway, I was able to get the rest of us out of there alive. I started changing back on the way home, though. Mikasa had to carry me. I was locked away for some time after that. Secretly. I’m still pretty hush-hush. I think only the Captain, Mikasa, Armin, Hanje, and a few other higher-ups know about me. That’s another reason our squad is kept somewhat separate from the rest of the Scouts.

Jean can’t believe he’s getting answers to so many questions. He can’t stop himself from asking more. “What does it feel like when you’re in your zombie form? Do you know what’s going on?”

Eren doesn’t answer right away, and Jean thinks he’s pushed his luck too far. “That’s alright, you don’t need to tell me.”

Eren shakes his head. “Nah, it’s okay, I was just thinking about it. I’m aware of my surroundings, and I can remember everything afterwards. But during, it’s all muffled, and kind of distant. I mostly feel angry, like I want to attack something. Maybe that’s why I snapped at you later that day, in the squad room,” he adds apologetically. Jean wonders briefly at the realization that even yesterday he would have felt like this implicit apology was some kind of victory over Eren, yet right now he doesn’t feel like that at all. He just nods and smiles, to let Eren know it’s okay, and plows forward with more questions.

“Why do you think it happens?”

“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? Hanje doesn’t think it’s genetic. It’s kind of crazy, but she thinks it has something to do with my father. He was a government scientist at the time, and maybe she has access to information that I don’t, but she’s let it slip that there was something funny going on in his lab. I have this key that he gave me. Told me to keep it with me always.” He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a string with a large, metal key hanging from it. It’s in an old-fashioned style, with a delicate pattern traced into the sides.

“Can I see it?” asks Jean.

“Okay,” says Eren, looping the string over his head and passing it to Jean.

“Interesting,” says Jean. “I ‘ve never seen a key like this. It looks like an antique of some sort. What does it open?”

“Not sure,” Eren answers. “But we think something in my old house. My dad kept extra lab supplies in the basement, so it was always locked. The Captain thinks we’ll find some answers there.”

Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place in Jean’s brain, a big one this time.

“In Shiganshina” he crows. “9 Rose Lane.” His eyes widen. “But that’s 100% zombie territory now!”

“Yeah,” says Eren. He looks off into the distance. Southwards. Towards Shiganshina. “We’ve tried a few times to get there but have never made it. I’m starting to think I’ll have to go on my own. Since I’m immune to the bites. We think that not too many zombies have migrated there. The government started covertly evacuating people out of there even before the first outbreak, because of my mom. Since zombies don’t really move around much unless they’re hunting people, we think it’s stayed a relatively zombie-free zone. Also, the government doesn’t allow this information to get out, doesn’t want people thinking they can sneak into infested areas, but the zombies don’t often climb stairs. So, the upper floors of buildings in Shiganshina may be somewhat safe for travel.” From the way Eren talks about this, Jean can see he’s thought a lot about it. He probably thinks about it every day.

“But you could still die if enough of them attack you. You could be torn to shreds. Bleed to death.”

“That’s what Mikasa says. The zombies definitely have the numbers advantage. But, one way or another, it has to happen. I mean, if I can be immune to their bites, there has to be a way for others to become immune, too. And I have a feeling that Hanje is right- that my dad does have something to do with it.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jean blurts out. Not that he’s complaining, but it’s so strange, after all the silence and secrecy. Again, Jean doesn’t think Eren will answer; again, Eren does. It’s turning out to be a day full of surprises.

“Armin doesn’t think you’re a spy anymore. And I… I don’t think you are, either.” Eren is still looking off into the distance, in the vague direction of Shiganshina. He seems to be talking to himself more than to Jean.

“Oh,” says Jean blankly.

“Armin thinks you might even be able to help us figure all this stuff out.” His tone is almost wistful, as if he’s hoping this will be the case.

So many thoughts are running through Jean’s head, he’s not sure what to say next. Until one thought dominates, and he knows he has to say it right now, before this unexpected moment of connection is lost.

“I’m sorry.”

Eren looks back at him, confused. “For what?”

“For being such a jerk,” answers Jean. “Especially at the beginning.”

“Ah, no worries. It was pretty understandable. We basically kidnapped you, right?” Eren grins at him. The last rays of the sun are gently outlining Eren’s face. Out of nowhere Jean is struck with how _dazzling_ Eren is, his face open and relaxed, his green eyes all lit with gold. He vividly recalls the calm strength radiating from Eren’s hand onto his shoulder earlier that day. 

“What?” asks Eren.

Jean knows he’s staring, but he can’t look away from the gold-green eyes. Eren’s brow furrows slightly. He tilts his head, his expression questioning. Jean finds that his heart is beating rather fast.

All at once, Eren’s head snaps up. 

‘Wh-“ Jean starts to say, but Eren throws a hand over Jean’s mouth and leans over to breathe in Jean’s ear, “Shhhh. Did you hear that?”

Jean finds it very hard to concentrate on anything else with Eren so close. He tries his best, but all he can hear is his own heartbeat booming in his ears. He shakes his head.

“I thought I heard something,” Eren whispers. Jean shivers, whether at the thought of someone out there, listening to them, or at Eren’s proximity, he’s not sure. Eren removes his hand, leans back against the fence and mutters, “Ah, well, we should probably get back.”

He starts to quietly and efficiently gather up the remains of the meal. Dinner is over.

They carefully inspect the entirety of the roof. There is no trace of anyone else. Still, Eren is edgy and distracted as they walk down the long, empty stairwell.


	4. Chapter 4

Following that evening on the roof, Jean’s not sure why he continues to eat meals separately. But he doesn’t bring it up yet. He’s waiting for another chance to eat with Eren on the roof.

This turns out to be breakfast, five days later. It’s Sunday, so they don’t have training for another two hours, and there’s plenty of time.

Jean holds his breakfast bag towards Eren, and says, quietly, “Can we go upstairs again? I have something I wanted to show you.”

“Okay,” says Eren.

Jean stuffs the bag of blueberry scones into his jacket pocket. Food can wait. He has another objective in mind for this breakfast. Reiner, on the way out of the squad room himself, holds the door open for them. Once they’re upstairs, settled comfortably on the rooftop, Jean fishes a coiled leather strip out from his other pocket. His hands are sweaty even though the morning air has a chill to it.

“I noticed that the string holding your key is falling apart,” he says. He hopes he’s not blushing. “I thought maybe this one might work better.” He couldn’t believe when he saw it in among the detritus of the squad room. He knew immediately that it was perfect- the right length, the right thickness, and much sturdier than the string Eren is currently using. 

Eren lifts the key from his neck and inspects the gray, threadbare string, holding it as if seeing it for the first time. He nods wordlessly, unties the string, and hands the key to Jean.

Jean threads the thin leather strip through the open spaces at the top of the key in such a way that the key will lie flat on Eren’s neck. It fits perfectly, as though made for this purpose. 

“See?” says Jean. “And you can tie it in.” Jean centers the key, then makes a quick, deft knot on either side, neatly wedging it in place. “Like this. That way it won’t ever slip off.”

“Nice!” says Eren. He gives Jean a beaming smile. They are both leaning in over the key. Eren’s face is very close.

Jean smiles back. An extraordinary feeling of happiness floods through him.

“Eren-“ he starts to say, but breaks off at the sound of footsteps. 

It’s Reiner and Bertolt, striding rapidly across the roof.

“Hey,” Eren calls out easily, his fingers closing over the key. “I didn’t know you guys knew about this pla-“

“I’ll take that,” says Reiner, grabbing Eren’s hand and wrenching the key out of it. At the same time, Bertolt slips Eren into a chokehold and grips his other hand, so both hands are immobilized. It’s such an abrupt shift from the warm moment with Eren that Jean doesn’t really process what’s happening.

“What the fuck?” gasps Eren. “Reiner? Bertolt?” His eyes turn to Jean in confusion. “ _Jean?_ ”

“Thanks, Jean,” says Reiner, clapping Jean on the back. “Your help has been _invaluable._ ”

“ _Jean!_ ” wheezes Eren, this time in horror. His eyes are enormous in his face. “I _trusted_ you.”

“B-bu-but, Eren,” stutters Jean, in shock and bewilderment. “I did-didn’t- I – I- don’t-“

“Shut up,” says Reiner, clocking him on the head. Everything turns black.

“What the hell is this about?” Eren demands. His hands are tied, and he’s squashed in the backseat of a car with Reiner and an unconscious Jean. Bertolt is driving. Eren thinks he’ll be damned if he’ll let fucking Reiner and Bertolt get the better of him. Although, as they’re working with Jean (Eren tries to ignore the painful squeeze in his heart at this thought), he has to assume that they know enough to be very dangerous indeed.

“We’re taking a little trip to Rose Lane, in Shiganshina. Going to find out what this key unlocks.” Reiner holds up the key which is now strung around his own neck, and grins maliciously at Eren. Now that the false camaraderie has been stripped from it, Reiner’s face is harder, colder; his eyes are like stones.

Reiner and Bertolt ( _and Jean, don’t forget Jean!_ ) have obviously planned this very carefully. Training won’t start for at least another hour, so Eren won’t be missed right away. They’ve gotten access to a vehicle, and when they get to the tunnel used in the recent Trost mission, Bertolt is able to unlock all the doors. One minute they’re on the side of the wall with people, buildings, civilization; the next, there is only silence, and the bitter, putrid smell of zombies. They seem to also have mapped out the safest route through Trost. The roads they take are on the very outskirts of the district, and they hardly encounter any zombies.

Eren’s thoughts keep circling uselessly back to Jean. How could he have been such a complete fool as to trust him? 

“I’m going to kick the shit out of you, you fucking traitors,” he says to Reiner, to distract himself.

“Shut up, Jaeger, or I’ll put a gag on you. Too bad we’re not allowed to damage you in any way. Our scientists want a perfectly intact specimen for their analysis. You’re lucky you’re so valuable.”

“You’ll never get away with this.” 

“Actually, Jaeger, we will. Bertolt and I are the best of the best, after all. We’re the chosen ones. We’ve got a lot of wasted time to make up for, though. Three years stuck in this shit-for-brains operation. Waiting, gathering up scraps of information, laying the foundation stone by stone, so when the time came we could act immediately. The Scouts guard their secrets very carefully. Maneuvering our way into your squad was our first big break. That was all thanks to Bertolt; he had a hunch there had to be something going on with the son of Dr. Grisha Jaeger, the original Mad Scientist. We hit the jackpot, though, when this fool showed up.” He gestures towards Jean.

“What a pair of idiots you are, speaking out in the open, where anyone could hear you. And then Jean taking you up to the roof to give you this stupid necklace, like a twelve-year-old girl! We couldn’t have arranged things better ourselves.”

Nothing has actually changed about Eren’s situation, but with Reiner’s words comes an almost physical wave of relief: Jean has not, after all, betrayed him. This is followed by an even more intense feeling of guilt. What the hell had Eren been thinking? All it took was for Jean to look at him in that intent, serious way, and Eren had completely lost his head. Blabbed all his secrets to the world, for Christ’s sake. He groans. What a mess. And all his own fault.

Jean is still out cold. The guilt only deepens as Eren recalls the earlier look on Jean’s face, as though all the stuffing had been knocked out of him. Eren presses his leg against Jean’s limp body. He wishes he could convey through this contact how sorry he is: that Jean is here, that he’s been beaten, that he’s on his way to die, all because of Eren’s stupidity. He does his best to chase these thoughts away. If there’s going to be a chance for them to escape, he needs to be ready for it, and wallowing in guilt isn’t going to help at all.

Eren shifts in his seat, and winces audibly.

“What’s wrong?” asks Reiner.

“So much for not damaging me, you loser,” says Eren. “You’ve already destroyed the circulation in my hands.” He has been tensing his muscles to increase the tension on the ropes

“Christ,” says Reiner, as he inspects Eren’s hands. “Your fingers are blue.”

“Shit, Reiner,” says Bertolt. “They were very clear about the “no-harm” requirement.”

“Okay,” grumbles Reiner, “I’ll loosen the knots. But just a little. And if you try anything, you little motherfucker, your friend here dies.”

Eren keeps his face impassive as Reiner loosens the rope slightly. Believe it or not, the Captain has taught Eren a few tricks about escaping from knotted ropes, and he thinks that there might be just enough give now for him to be able to wiggle free. Eren spends the rest of the drive quietly stretching the ropes further. By the time they reach Shiganshina, the bonds are even looser.

When they arrive at the house, Eren is taken aback by how much it still looks like home. It’s been years since he’s been here, but he feels as though he could run up to the door and find his mother waiting inside. He exhales, letting the thoughts and memories slip away with his breath. He can’t afford sentimentality right now.

He tries to refuse to get out of the car, but Bertolt lifts out Jean’s limp body and presses a knife to his side.

“OK, OK,” says Eren, awkwardly scooting over to exit from the car.

“You were right,” says Reiner admiringly to Bertolt. “He’s definitely got a thing for that pretentious son of a bitch.”

“I told you we needed Jean,” says Bertolt.

In the basement, Bertolt keeps Jean slung over his shoulder, the knife pressed against him. “No funny business,” he warns Eren.

While Reiner and Bertolt comb through the basement, Eren slumps down on the floor, carefully angling his body so neither of them can get a good look at his hands. They are now free enough that he will be able to slip out of the rope. But he can’t act until Jean is out of immediate range of Bertolt’s knife.

It doesn’t take long for Reiner to find the locked metal box. Eren can’t believe his father didn’t try to hide it better, but maybe he didn’t have time before whatever happened to him happened. The key smoothly opens the lock, and the top springs open. Reiner lifts out a thick notebook.

“Is this it? What we’re looking for?” asks Bertolt excitedly.

“Maybe,” grunts Reiner, flipping through the notebook. He reads aloud:

“ ‘#Z1034 Vaccine Trial Summary.’ Yeah, I think this is it.” His finger skims over the page.

“ ‘Subjects… Dosing Schedule…’ Hmmm. Listen to this: ‘Efficacy: transformation rate reduced to 1.7 % with inoculum concentration of 25% (0.25 gram/ml).’ Wow. That’s much more effective than the vaccine we were given.”

He adds, with certainty, “This is most definitely what we are looking for.” He snaps the notebook shut and stuffs it back into the case, locking it.

“Bertolt, I do believe our work here is done,” he continues in a jaunty tone of voice. “Time to leave this cesspool. We can finally go home.” The word “home” is filled with such longing that even Eren can hear it.

“We don’t need this guy anymore, do we?” asks Bertolt, indicating Jean. Eren’s heart is in his throat. Will he have to act now? He hopes not. Bertolt’s knife is hovering too close to Jean. Jean would be dead before Eren finished transforming.

“Nah,” said Reiner, “We can lock him in here so he starves to death. Or, better yet, leave him out on the street. It would make me extremely happy for that smug bastard to be turned into a zombie.” Eren keeps his hands in the ropes and lets out his breath. It will have to be outside, once Bertolt lets go of Jean. If he can transform and get the car key away from Reiner, they have a clear path to safety. Those are two big “ifs”, but Eren’s going to do his best to make them happen, because this is the only path Eren can see that brings them both home alive. 

“OK, Jaeger, mission accomplished. Up you go.” Reiner, one hand on the case, the key back around his neck, grabs Eren’s shoulder and pushes him up the stairs. Eren keeps the knots gripped in his palms so they look tighter than they are. But Reiner isn’t paying that much attention to Eren; he’s flushed with victory, almost humming to himself. Eren hopes this makes him overly cocky and a little bit careless. He and Jean could really use a break right about now.

Once they are outside, Bertolt drops Jean’s body onto the sidewalk and keeps walking towards the car. Reiner lets go of Eren’s arm in order to fish out the car key. Eren quickly slips his hands out of the ropes, lunging towards Reiner at the same time he’s bringing his hand to his mouth. Bertolt, however, is quicker than Eren, swinging forward and jerking Eren’s arms behind his back. Dammit, thinks Eren. He won’t be able to transform.

But his legs are still free, and at least he can make it that much harder for Reiner and Bertolt to get home. Eren kicks Reiner’s hand as hard as he can, the car key flying in a high, wide arc, landing in the wildly overgrown grass the next yard over.

“You little shit,” thunders an enraged Reiner, and he immediately begins to pummel Eren. So much for the “no-harm” requirement, thinks Eren. But then he stops thinking, as he needs to channel all his energy into trying to wrench himself free of Bertolt so he can get his hand close to his mouth. 

Jean starts to rise out of muzzy darkness. He doesn’t want to, though. He has a headache, and there’s something else at the back of his mind. Something he doesn’t want to wake up to. Worse than the unpleasant heaviness of an impending exam. Worse than waking up in the squad room that first morning. Then it hits him in brilliant technicolor: Eren, that horrible look of hurt and betrayal on his face, gasping, “Jean. I _trusted_ you.” The scene plays over and over in Jean’s mind, like some awful movie stuck on repeat. _I trusted you, I trusted you, I trusted you_.

He’s so lost in the imagery in his head that he only gradually becomes aware of his surroundings. He hears voices: Reiner and Bertolt.

_We don’t need this guy anymore, do we?_

_Nah. We can lock him in here so he starves to death. Or, better yet, leave him out on the street. It would make me extremely happy for that smug bastard to be turned into a zombie._

Jean is being carried up the stairs. By the time Bertolt drops him onto the ground outside the house, he’s awake enough to land in such a way that his head doesn’t bash into the concrete. He sneaks a peek at the figures before him, and the sight snaps him into full consciousness. They are almost at the car, and Jean knows that once they’ve got Eren in that car, it’s all over for Eren. They’ll bring him back to whatever swamp they came from, where he’ll be imprisoned, tortured, dissected. An image of Eren strapped down on a lab table fills Jean with anger. He’s grateful for the anger, because it gives him strength. He climbs to his knees at the exact moment Eren kicks the key out of Reiner’s hand. 

Reiner and Bertolt lay into Eren mercilessly, while Eren fights back like a madman, desperately trying to get one of his hands in his mouth.

Jean knows he’ll only have one shot, so he needs to make it count. He looks frantically around for any possible weapon. At his feet, like a gift from the gods, is a loose garden tile. It’s exactly what Jean needs: easy to grasp, and with a solid weight to it. 

Rising shakily to his feet, he totters forward and swings the tile as hard as he can, slamming it into the back of Reiner’s head. Reiner grunts but continues to pound on Eren. Jean doesn’t see what happens next, because Bertolt tackles him to the ground. Then Bertolt’s hands are around Jean’s neck, choking him. Jean claws uselessly at Bertolt’s arms. His vision is turning black when suddenly the crushing weight is thrown off him. He hears the thud of Bertolt’s body hitting concrete, and Eren is standing over Jean. If he can still be called Eren.

Eren is huge, towering over Jean. His burnt-black skin hangs loosely over stringy muscles. His hands end in wicked-looking claws, and long canines curve over his lower lip. His eyes are a deep violet color.

“E-eren?” Jean gasps.

Zombie-Eren pauses and cocks his head, a look that can only be described as quizzical on his face. It’s so like Eren’s questioning expression up on the roof (was it really only a few days ago?) that Jean smiles involuntarily before shaking himself free of the memory. This is not the Eren he knows. This is Zombie-Eren. A very strong, very angry Zombie-Eren. A Zombie-Eren who thinks Jean has betrayed him. In all likelihood, a Zombie-Eren who is about to kill him.

He scrambles to his knees. As he rises, he notices something else. The sound of loose, clacking joints rattling over the ground. Dammit. Didn’t Armin say that Zombie-Eren was a zombie magnet? Eren seems to become aware at the same time, because he glances around quickly, then reaches down towards Jean. This is it, Jean thinks. He is ashamed to find that he is facing death with his head bent and his eyes closed. But instead of feeling sharp claws tearing into him, he finds himself being grabbed and tossed onto Eren’s back. Jean reflexively clutches Eren’s neck to stop from sliding off as Eren bends down further to pick up the metal box at Reiner’s feet. As he does so, Jean is able to lift the key from around Reiner’s neck. He swings it onto Eren’s neck. He does his best to ignore the blood pooling at the back of Reiner’s head. He doesn’t think Reiner is still alive.

With the box in hand and Jean on his back, Eren turns and starts to run. Is Eren planning on running all the way back to the Wall, with Jean riding piggyback? It’s got to be at least six miles through Shiganshina, and another ten to twelve through Trost. As Eren settles into a long, loping gait, Jean can only conclude that this is the case. He feels dizzy and afraid, but does his best to lock his arms around Eren’s neck and his legs around Eren’s waist, curling as close as he can into Eren’s broad back.

Eren runs steadily forward, at a pace much faster than an ordinary human could run. It is all Jean can do to cling to his back, trying not to choke Eren or get in his way. If any zombies come near them, Eren sweeps them away with his impossibly powerful arms.

After about an hour of running, Eren begins to tire. His breathing becomes ragged. He stumbles a few times, and there are several close zombie calls. Eren clearly needs to rest, but is there any safe place to stop? At this point, they are moving through some of the hardest hit areas of Trost, and zombies are everywhere. Jean thinks that zombies have likely infiltrated most of the buildings here as well. Maybe if they can get up on a roof? Zombies probably have a hard time climbing onto roofs, right? It seems worth a try, especially since Jean doesn’t have any other ideas.

A five-story apartment building looms ahead of them.

“Eren, to the right,” Jean yells into his ear. “That fire escape. Can you reach it? Climb up to the roof?”

The fire escape begins just above the first floor, too high for a person to reach. But Eren takes a running leap, and just manages to catch the bottom rung in his hand. He swings his legs up. Jean desperately clings to Eren’s neck with numb arms. Then Eren is right-side up, pounding up to the top. 

As soon as they reach the roof, Eren collapses, Jean rolling off his back.

Eren’s body immediately begins to steam. Just like before, he shrinks, his color lightens, claws and fangs retract, and muscles plump out under the skin. He also throws out a hand next to him, plainly expecting a nice platter of delicious food to be waiting for him.

If only Jean had something to eat. But wait- he reaches into his jacket pocket. The breakfast bag is miraculously still there. The same can’t be said for the scones, which are now all crumbs, but at least they’re inside the bag. 

He sits down cross-legged and pulls Eren into his lap. This takes a bit of effort, as Jean is pretty wiped out from clinging on to Eren, and Eren is surprisingly heavy. Jean squishes some crumbs together into a ball, and carefully places it against Eren’s lips. They can’t afford to waste any of it.

“Open up, Eren,” he urges.

Eren opens his mouth and Jean pops the food in.

Eren chews tentatively. He seems to like it because he swallows and opens his mouth again, like a baby bird waiting to be fed.

There’s such a stark contrast between the huge, powerful Zombie-Eren and this helpless, overgrown baby that Jean can’t help but blow out a large breath of air and say exasperatedly, “Come _on_ , Eren.” Nonetheless, he carefully feeds Eren the scone crumbs, bite by bite.

All too soon, the food is gone. Eren opens his mouth, waiting for more, but Jean has to tell him, “Sorry, man. There isn’t any left.” Somehow, Eren’s mouth closes in a manner that conveys a melancholy disappointment. Jean touches Eren’s cheek. It’s very cold. He takes off his jacket and tucks it around Eren’s chest. He crosses his own arms on top of the jacket, trying to squeeze a little warmth into Eren.

“Jean?” Eren whispers. His breath is cool on Jean’s neck.

“Yes?” answers Jean.

“I’m sorry that I thought… you were… with them,” says Eren.

“Shhhh. Hey, it’s okay. I can see how it looked like that. You were incredible, though. I can’t believe you got us out of there alive.” 

“You weren’t… so bad… yourself,” says Eren. His voice is weak and thready. “Any… more… food?”

Jean rapidly assesses the situation. He can’t for the life of him see how they’re going to get back to the safety of the tunnel, but he can at last try to tackle the urgent situation right in front of him. He doesn’t know exactly what will happen if Eren doesn’t get some fuel soon, but he suspects that Eren may die. Jean could try to make it back to the Scouts to get help, but the likelihood of success is essentially nil. His best bet is to try to scavenge some food from this building. 

“I don’t have any here. But I’m going to go get some.”

“Where?” asks Eren.

“In this apartment building.”

“OK,” is all Eren says.

He slides Eren’s arms into the jacket sleeves, and zips it up. He’s glad there’s a hood, and he tucks it around Eren’s head. He gently shifts Eren off his lap and onto the ground. 

“You keep this safe right here,” he says, tucking the metal box into Een’s side.

He scans the roof for any possible weapon. There’s a wobbly-looking pipe sticking out of the roof. With some effort, Jean is able to wrench it off its base. It’s not much, but it will give him a little leverage against zombies.

He checks on Eren once more, running a finger across Eren’s hand. It is worryingly cold.

“Jean,” whispers Eren, so softly that Jean almost doesn’t hear him.

‘Yes?” asks Jean. 

‘You’ll come back, won’t you?”

Jean’s heart flops into his throat. _I hope so_ , is the honest answer.

“Of course I will, you knucklehead,” he says, with a patently false bravado. However, his words seemed to satisfy Eren, who curls up in a fetal position around the metal box. 

He walks over to the fire escape and looks down at the unnerving sight of at least 50 zombies shuffling around on the ground below it. He better get moving so they can get out of there.

The foray into the building turns out to be remarkably easy. There are no traces of zombies, and in the seventh apartment he hits paydirt. Whoever lived here at the time of evacuation was evidently preparing for the apocalypse because there is almost an entire room full of emergency supplies. This includes boxes of long-life water and energy bars with an expiration date that is still five years in the future. Jean pulls off his shirt, ties off one end to make a kind of sack, then stuffs as many water packs and bars as he can fit into it. He takes a moment to guzzle down 3 waters – man, he’s thirsty- and rips open a bar. It tastes like chalk, but he crunches it down. He immediately feels better. Each of these bars is supposed to be a whole meal, so Eren probably only needs to eat about five to recover his strength.

Back up on the roof, Eren is curled up in the same position he was in when Jean left. He is motionless, and for one heart-stopping moment Jean thinks he’s dead. But no, there is still a faint rise and fall to his chest. His lips are purple.

Jean lifts Eren back up into his lap and unzips the jacket. He eases Eren out of it and slips his own arms into the sleeves. He then zips Eren into the front, so Eren is surrounded by either Jean or the jacket. He is trying to trap as much body heat as close to Eren as possible

“Eren,” he whispers.

“Jean.” Eren’s voice is so weak that Jean has to strain his ears to hear him. “You… came back?” It’s a question.

“Yes,” said Jean. “I came back.” He remembers the people who haven’t come back to Eren: his mother, his father, other squad members. “I’ll always come back,” he adds fiercely, tightening his arms around Eren. Eren’s purple lips turn up slightly at the corners.

“Listen, Eren, I know this isn’t going to be your favorite, but you have to eat, do you understand?” There is no response. Jean unwraps an energy bar and breaks off a small piece. 

“Open your mouth, please.”

Eren’s jaw drops slightly.

Jean slides the piece in, and Eren starts to chew. He grimaces and spits it out, like an infant who doesn’t like the taste of pureed spinach.

“Eren what the heck?” cries Jean. He wipes the mess off Eren’s chin. “I’m sorry it tastes bad, but you have to eat it.”

Eren’s eyebrows furrow, as though he’s trying to comprehend what Jean is saying.

“Can you try again?” Jean asks. Eren’s mouth stays closed.

“Eren, open your damn mouth,” demands Jean.

Eren obediently opens his mouth. Jean drops a small piece of energy bar in and gently presses the bottom of Eren’s chin up.

“Chew,” Jean commands. When he thinks it’s chewed enough that Eren won’t choke, he says, “Swallow.” Eren swallows.

Eren makes several faces to signify his displeasure with the proceedings, but he allows the process to be repeated until the entire bar is gone.

Jean’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not, but he thinks Eren is a little less gray.

“It’s kind of dry,” Eren says, in a voice that is still quiet but definitely firmer than the barely audible whisper he was using earlier. Jean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and hastily opens a water pack. He holds it up to Eren’s lips. Eren drinks greedily, although too much of it slides down his chin and onto the jacket.

“Were you always such a goddamned picky eater?” asks Jean, but his tone is affectionate.

“I dunno,” says Eren, with a faint shrug of one shoulder.

Jean rips the wrapper off a new bar and holds it up to Eren’s mouth. Eren is now strong enough that he can bite into it himself. 

Jean is so focused on Eren that he barely registers a new sound from the direction of the fire escape. A sound of clanging metal.

“Eren, hang on a minute, I’ve got to check something out.”

Eren is halfway through the second bar, and he is definitely looking better. He nods, and Jean removes himself from the jacket, leaving it wrapped around Eren.

He struggles back into his shirt, then creeps up to the fire escape, lifting his eyes slightly over the edge to peer down. Holy shit! It’s two zombies jumping up in a very unzombielike fashion to grab the fire escape. They’re carrying a metal pole and are using it to try to lever themselves up. They are unusual-looking zombies. One of them has blonde hair, and the back of its head is smashed in. It also has what looks like metal-plated armor embedded in its body. The other one has black hair and is tall, taller even than Zombie-Eren. Jean’s stomach drops out from under him: it’s Reiner and Bertolt.

Jean can’t believe it. Those devils have tracked them all the way here. He moves slowly back from the edge and then turns and runs back to Eren. He’s thinking about how Reiner and Bertolt don’t look like regular zombies. Maybe they are like Eren and can transform into temporary zombies. If so, he and Eren are in deep trouble right now.

“What’s wrong?” asks Eren. He’s managed to unwrap a third bar and is still chewing steadily. He’s also sitting up, but in a saggy way, as though his head is too heavy for him to hold it fully upright.

“Listen, Eren. Can you get up?” Jean doesn’t wait for an answer. “You need to get up. Keep eating, but get up.”

Eren can hear the urgency in his voice.

“What is it? What’s at the fire escape?”

Jean doesn’t answer the question. He picks up the metal box, checks Eren’s neck. Good, the key is there.

“Eren, listen to me. No, don’t stop eating, listen to me at the same time. You’re going to need to transform back into a zombie, jump on to the roof of that building over there, then climb down and run the rest of the way to the tunnel. If you run east, you should bypass a lot of the heavy zombie areas, and hit the tunnel we used for the last mission. I think it’ll only be a few miles. You have to take the case with you. You can do it.” _But not with me on your back,_ he thinks to himself.

“Wha-what about you?” asks Eren.

“I’m going to climb into this building and find a safe place where I can hide. I’ll keep still, and I’ll be fine.” _Not if Reiner and Bertolt are Zombie-humans, though_. He immediately squashes the thought- it’s not going to do him any good right now. “You guys can come back and rescue me later. I’ve got lots of food and water here.” He doesn’t look at Eren, just concentrates on moving him towards the other side of the building, away from the fire escape.

“I’m not leaving you,” says Eren.

“Eren, don’t be stupid. You’ll never make it with me on your back, and you need to bring the box to Armin.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Eren repeats.

Eren pulls away from Jean. He stumbles over to the fire escape, leaning on the rail. Jean hears a loud roar- Bertolt, or is it Reiner?- followed by a clanging thump, like the sound of someone -some _things_ \- heaving themselves up onto a metal fire escape. This is quickly followed by noises that can only be Zombie-Reiner and Zombie-Bertolt galloping up the fire escape stairs. 

Eren backs up towards Jean.

“Eren!” Jean screams frantically, pushing the case into Eren’s arms. “Transform and go! There’s no time!”

Eren bites down, hard, into his right palm. Blood spurts out, and then he is growing, limbs lengthening, skin darkening, teeth and claws extending. Eren is a zombie again. He leans over his knees, panting with effort. But the next second he has grabbed the metal case, thrown Jean onto his back, and is sprinting across the rooftop, faster than he ran before. Jean can’t do anything but lock onto Eren as tightly as he can. It’s a twenty-foot jump across to the next closest rooftop. Jean thought it would be a long shot when it was just going to be Eren. Now that he’s also carrying Jean, Jean doesn’t think there is any way they’re going to make it. For the second time in the span of a few hours, Jean finds himself facing death with his eyes closed.

Yet somehow, unbelievably, Eren clears the roof. As he lands, he stumbles and falls to the ground, Jean’s leg trapped beneath him. Jean feels a sharp, stabbing pain. Eren quickly springs to his feet, and Jean tries to follow, but falls back down, doubled over. Something is seriously wrong with his ankle. He doesn’t think he can even get up.

Eren motions for Jean to climb onto his back.

“You go ahead,” Jean says.

Eren shakes his head.

“Leave, you stubborn fool. My ankle’s busted.”

Eren keeps shaking his head.

“Please,” begs Jean. “You don’t have the energy to carry me again. It’s the only way one of us will make it out here alive. I can at least try to delay them a bit.”

“No,” says Zombie-Eren. The word is harsh, guttural, inhuman-sounding, but there’s no doubt as to what he means.

Jean looks back to the other apartment building. Zombie-Reiner and Zombie-Bertolt are racing towards them across the rooftop, faces frozen in snarls of rage. If they really are humans temporarily transformed into zombies, they probably have all sorts of nifty tricks up their sleeves, including the ability to roof-hop.

Eren is done talking. He hurls Jean over his shoulder. It’s all Jean can do to twist and scrabble a hold onto Eren. He’s hanging on for all he’s worth as Eren starts running again, and then he’s hurling himself forward, another fantastic leap into the air, onto the next rooftop. 

They land with a bang, Jean’s legs jolting with the force of it. Jean doesn’t understand why he doesn’t pass out from the pain.

For Jean, the journey becomes one horrible, agonizing impact after the next. The rest of the trip is only about ten or fifteen minutes, but it morphs into a hazy nightmare of fractured images and sensations: a stream of waving zombie limbs; Eren staggering into the tunnel; Captain Levi and Mikasa sprinting past them, swords drawn; the Captain stabbing Zombie-Bertolt through the neck; Zombie-Reiner fleeing back through the tunnel, out into Trost. It’s only when Eren collapses for a second time that Jean finally, blessedly, blacks out.

He wakes up somewhere warm and soft. There is only a mild aching in his left ankle. He gives it an experimental tug and finds that he can’t move it. For some reason, he can’t move his right hand either, which he finds odd, as he doesn’t remember injuring it.

His opens his eyes.

“Ah,” says a voice. “You’re awake.” The figure is blurry, but Jean blinks and his eyes focus. It’s Armin. Armin keeps talking, but Jean isn’t making sense of what he’s saying. Jean looks around, trying to get his bearings.

He’s in a bed in an open, sunny room. He’s wearing hospital pajamas. There is an IV in his left arm. His left leg is encased below the knee in what looks like some heavy-duty, protective, immobilization device. His right arm is off to the side, disappearing into the curled-up bundle that is Eren. Eren is fast asleep on a pull-out chair next to Jean’s bed. Jean is infinitely relieved to see that Eren is his regular size and shape, and that his breathing is normal (with the addition of some light snoring).

Satisfied, Jean turns his attention to Armin.

Armin can tell that Jean is finally paying attention.

“Hello, Jean,” says Armin. He smiles at Jean, a real smile, which starts in his eyes and fills his whole face. “We are very grateful to you. It’s thanks to you that Eren is alive and well, and that we now have our hands on certain information that is exceedingly valuable.” The words wash over Jean. He’s not really taking them in, but he thinks he’ll be able to sort them out later.

“I’m sorry about your injury. You have a complicated break, but the doctor expects you to recover full use of the leg. The medication you received may make you feel a bit sleepy. You are allowed to drink liquids.” Armin gestures at the cup of water on the left side of Jean’s bed. Jean is suddenly overcome with thirst, and he gulps down the water, which feels like a balm to his parched throat.

“As you can see, Eren could not be persuaded to let go of your hand. He remains deeply fatigued but is otherwise fine. Please try to rest. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Jean does indeed feel very tired. Fighting against the pull of sleep, he rolls his upper body over so that he is facing Eren. He wriggles his right hand out from Eren’s grasp. Eren wakes up with a start. He sees Jean looking at him, and his eyes light up, like green flares.

“You didn’t leave me,” Jean says, a catch in his voice. He knows what it cost Eren to haul him back to safety. Now that Eren is awake, Jean can see that he is pale, and there are deep shadows under his eyes.

“I’ll never leave you,” declares Eren solemnly. He smiles, a smile that makes Jean’s heart twist. “Never,” Eren repeats.

Jean smiles back. His eyelids droop. He is so very, very tired. Just as Jean is falling asleep, Eren leans in and kisses him, once, lightly, on his parted lips. Jean wakes up enough to wrap his arms around Eren’s neck, drawing him onto the bed and into a long, lazy, lover’s kiss.

“Eren,” he breathes. He buries his face in Eren’s hair, whispers, “Crazy, stubborn, _perfect_ Eren.” He lets his head fall back drowsily onto the pillow. It’s remarkably comfortable lying in this soft bed, with Eren’s body stretched along his own, melting into him. He can’t stay awake a moment longer. Eren’s fingers are tracing lazy circles on his skin, Eren is leaving soft, sleepy kisses on his neck, and, as Jean slips into unconsciousness, he hears Eren murmur, “My beautiful Jean."


End file.
